In the middle of the movie, somewhere after Ghagra song, I noticed something unusual.
The boys had started entering the TV hall.
At first, I thought maybe they were just passing through, but then I saw a bunch of them settle down, row by row, on the left side of the hall. That's when it hit me. They had officially claimed their half. Meanwhile, the girls (including me) were all gathered on the right side, just like we always had.
This hall was technically meant for girls. The 9th-grade boys, who stayed on the ground floor of the main hostel block (first and second floors for girls), usually had to walk over to their exclusive boys' hostel block if they wanted to access their TV and play area. This was the only indoor space for us girls—half used as a games zone and half as our TV hall. The dining hall was the backup TV zone, but that only worked during meal times. Otherwise, it was either this or the open grounds for a play area, which didn't even have proper shade.
We were only allowed to control this TV, with the ancient black remote that worked only when pointed from the right angle and with three taps on the back, on weekends and holidays. And even then, most of the time, we fought over serials, movies, and music channels. So it was already a rare luxury to have this time, and now it was even rarer, with boys in the mix.
Technically, there was no rule that said this was only for girls. But you know how it is—"unofficial rules" have more power than written ones in Indian hostels. Even though the management never said it, this hall belonged to us.
I scanned the room again.
Two male wardens were standing near the doorway, arms crossed like security guards at a VIP event, pretending not to look but definitely keeping track of every glance, smile, or whisper exchanged across the imaginary line between boys and girls.
And still, we couldn't help ourselves.
We talked more because we were being monitored.
There's something about restriction that makes everything ten times more fun. Girls were whispering, passing folded paper messages, lip-syncing jokes across the aisle, and miming exaggerated reactions to movie scenes just to make the boys laugh.
It was like being in a spy movie, where every look and gesture had a secret meaning.
You'd think we were planning a rebellion, but most of it was just harmless fun. A few girls had already mastered the art of throwing glances without getting caught, and some boys were pretending not to notice while sneakily smiling back.
Half the people here were already in some kind of relationship. If not serious, then definitely in the "I like you, but let's pretend I don't" stage. Puppy love is practically a part of hostel life, especially between 9th and 12th grade. Crushes, secret hand-holding behind books, exchanging letters through borrowed notebooks... It's all very common.
Honestly, if you find a student without any of those things—no crush, no fling, no late-night blushing over a classmate's secret letters—it's very, very rare.
Then there's the other half. People like me.
We're just here for the food, the movie, and the endless teasing. We don't need a crush to be entertained. We've got our friends, our roast sessions, and the constant group teasing that never stops. And somehow, pulling each other's legs is more satisfying than any filmy romantic drama.
Today, for example, Mahathi was giving Prerna a hard time about blushing when a certain boy (rumoured to be her childhood tuition friend) smiled in our direction. Meanwhile, Pavani was secretly sketching everyone in her notebook, adding hearts over two heads, she said looked like a "perfect class couple."
I was mostly quiet, just watching and smiling.
These moments—filled with giggles, dramatic dialogues from the movie, stolen glances, and mock fights over chips—these are what make hostel life fun. They're messy and chaotic and a little silly, but they're also ours.
I knew the boys weren't going to stay until the end. Their warden would definitely chase them out after a while, especially once the songs were over. But even that short time of shared space made the movie more exciting, more alive.
I glanced once across the hall and saw Nishanth sitting on the last row of the boys' side, half-watching the movie and half-having a serious conversation with his friends. He didn't look up. Not even once.
I smiled to myself.
Maybe that's good. Maybe we're all pretending a little right now. Pretending to be cool, pretending not to care, pretending to only be here for the movie.
But beneath all the pretending, these quiet, chaotic hours are being sealed into our memories forever.
Just before "Balam Pichkari" started blasting through the speakers, I got an idea.
I started passing signals through a few girls who were sitting closer to the left side, where the boys were. Mostly hand gestures, small nods, and a very exaggerated yawn in Nishanth's direction. I didn't know if he'd notice immediately, but I was sure his friends would.
A few of them looked confused at first, then one boy near him nudged his arm, probably whispering something like, "Bro, I think that's for you." Nishanth looked up.
I made a quick signal with my hand, index and middle finger pointing to my eyes, and then pointing to the water point.
Then I got up casually and walked out, pretending I was just thirsty.
The water point was just outside the entertainment area, in the corridor near the staircase. Technically, this whole ground floor was considered the boys' space, but on weekends, when we girls used the entertainment hall more, we also used this corner often. It wasn't a secret spot or anything—just one of those in-between spaces that no one claimed fully, so everyone used it.
I was filling my bottle slowly, the humming sound of the water running masking my nerves a bit.
And then I heard footsteps.
Nishanth.
He didn't say anything at first. Just leaned slightly on the wall near the cooler and crossed his arms. I kept my bottle under the tap and said without turning, "I completed 20 articles today."
His eyes widened. "Twenty? From yesterday night till now?"
"Yep," I replied, tightening the lid of my bottle.
"Why are you acting like this is normal?" he asked, eyebrows raised.
I turned to face him and shrugged. "Because it is normal. When I get inspiration, this is normal. If I don't have it, then it takes forever. This time, I had it."
He smirked. "Oooh... someone's on fire."
"What 'ooh'? I didn't come here to brag," I said, squinting at him. "I wanted to know your progress."
"Right," he said, adjusting his imaginary glasses. "I sat in the warden's cabin this morning and finished all the photo attachments. Edited the ones that'll match the articles you might write. Cropped, adjusted brightness, and added labels wherever needed."
I blinked. "You finished editing?"
He nodded. "Yep."
"So now," I said slowly, counting on my fingers, "the articles are ready, the photos are ready. All that's left is turning them into digital pages, aligning them, and then..."
"Getting permission from the school management," he finished.
"Yeah," I sighed. "That was supposed to be the first step. But we got carried away."
Nishanth chuckled. "Now we're done with all the actual work. The only thing left is to plan how we're going to pitch it to the staff. And until then—no more work."
"Which means," I grinned, "we can finally chill a bit."
"Exactly," he said. "But first, strategy session. We need to plan how to win this battle."
I raised my bottle in a fake toast. "To tomorrow's war."
He tapped his knuckles lightly against the plastic. "May we emerge victorious."
We smiled. For a moment, it felt like we were co-conspirators, plotting something much bigger than just a magazine. It felt like we were building something real.
I took a deep breath and turned back toward the hall. "Let's go back before someone comes looking."
"Yeah," he said, following behind me.
And as we stepped back into the TV room, we smoothly switched roles.
Two strangers, seated apart, watching the same movie.
Like we didn't just have a full-on planning session near the water cooler.
Like we weren't holding the blueprint of something new, something bold, something we were going to make happen—together.